


Under the Lonely Mountain Tall

by xcourtney_chaoticx



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, I made myself sad when I wrote this, Post-Battle of Five Armies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-13
Updated: 2014-07-13
Packaged: 2018-02-08 17:06:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1949304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xcourtney_chaoticx/pseuds/xcourtney_chaoticx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The hobbit was more than content to lie there on the hilltop, watching the clouds pass and the sky darken, but it was not meant to be. Instead, he heard a familiar shout of his name from a friendly but worried voice. He pushed himself into a sitting position in time to see Bofur cresting the hill. The dwarf miner was somehow still wearing his ridiculous hat, but he looked very different covered in black blood and scratches and with torn clothing."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under the Lonely Mountain Tall

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is actually the first story I ever wrote for the Hobbit fandom, wayyy back in early 2013. This was initially posted on FanFiction, but I am reposting it here in anticipation of the final movie, 'Battle of the Five Armies', set for release this December. This is edited slightly from my original post, which had a style of dialogue more reflecting the novel, but I want to keep some of that flavor here as well. Bilbo's last pieces of dialogue are actually lifted right from the book, as are some of Thorin's last words. 
> 
> (I'm not lying when I said I made myself sad when I wrote it. I legitimately almost started crying.)

Bilbo Baggins noticed that the sky was very lovely when he woke up on Ravenhill after the Battle of the Five Armies (as he would later hear it called). The just-setting sun set pale rainbow colors over the clouds and smoke. The hobbit was more than content to lie there on the hilltop, watching the clouds pass and the sky darken, but it was not meant to be. Instead, he heard a familiar shout of his name from a friendly but worried voice. He pushed himself into a sitting position in time to see Bofur cresting the hill. The dwarf miner was somehow still wearing his ridiculous hat, but he looked very different covered in black blood and scratches and with torn clothing. Nonetheless, his usual grin split his face when he spied Bilbo.

"Bilbo Baggins!" he cried, rushing over, "Bless me, you're alive!"

He pulled the hobbit into a tight embrace, muttering something Bilbo could neither hear nor understand. When Bofur finally released him, he was shocked to see tears in the dwarf's eyes.

"I'm fine," he told Bofur, "I'm really fine. I promise."

"I know. I know, and it makes me so very glad," he told Bilbo, though his tears did not go away, "Hurry, Bilbo. Thorin wants to see you. I've got a pony for us to speed the journey."

"Thorin doesn't want to see me. He hates me for giving Bard and Thranduil the Arkenstone."

"Our Oakenshield doesn't have time for hate just now. Come, Bilbo, hurry."

A feeling of dread settled in Bilbo's stomach as Bofur helped him up onto the pony and then climbed into the saddle behind him, spurring the pony across field of battle to the tents of Bard the Bowman, the Dragonslayer. The dwarf was quiet the whole way, worrying the hobbit even more. Bofur was not known for quiet. As they neared, Bilbo could see nine dwarves seated outside a smallish tent. _I see Oin and Gloin, Balin and Dwalin, Dori and Nori and Ori, Bifur and Bombur… and I have Bofur with me. Now where are those young ones, Fili and Kili? And where is our dear leader and friend Thorin?_

Bofur reined in the pony at the tent where the nine dwarves sat, all looking sad and drawn. Bilbo did not like it one bit.

"Thorin's inside," Bofur told him quietly, "He'll be glad to see you. Go."

Bilbo eyed the tent flap warily before entering inside. As he suspected would happen, he did not like what he found there.

" _No_ ," he breathed.

The great Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain, was laid out on a bed with clean linens, though he was staining them slowly with blood and grime. Gandalf sat beside him. A great wound could be seen in his abdomen, a bleeding hole between his chest and gut. The wizard's look was one of happiness when he saw the hobbit, leaning down to whisper to the dwarf prince ( _king_ , Bilbo's mind supplied) and beckoning Bilbo closer.

"The hobbit?" Thorin rasped, "Where is the hobbit?"

"Here," Bilbo said, not liking how his friend sounded, "I'm right here."

A small smile touched Thorin's cracked and bloodied lips, and the halfling noted another smaller wound bleeding sluggishly at Thorin's hairline. The dwarf told him, "I've been… waiting for you, Halfling. I wanted to… I needed to apologize."

"For what?"

"I should not have… cast you out or… treated you as poorly as I did. I was… blinded by rage and greed and gold. I aban-abandoned our friendship for what now s-seems like a trifle. I am s-sorry…"

"No, no i-it's fine," Bilbo stammered, "I… it was stupid of me, a stupid idea-"

"It was wise. You… you have alw-always proven wiser th-than you seem," he whispered.

Bilbo felt his lip tremble as the realization that Thorin truly was dying washed over him. He needed to lean closer, tears dripping slowly onto the linens, to hear his friend murmur, "If m-more of us valued f-food and cheer and-and song above… above hoarded gold, it would b-be a merrier worl-world, Bilbo Baggins… f-for everyone would be m-much like you. Now… now, I-I l-leave you… to go to my ancestors…"

Thorin's eyes fell slowly shut for the last time. Bilbo barely choked out, "Goodbye, Thorin," before he let out a sob. He didn't even pretend to hide his grief. The hobbit wept openly, loudly, tears rolling in rivers down his cheeks. He felt one of Gandalf's large hands rest on his head but paid it no heed. His friend, for he had come to see Thorin as his good friend, was dead. Bilbo had lost family and others to old age and sickness before, but that was always somehow expected. Mortal beings got old. Mortal beings died. This, though… this was different. As a dwarf, Thorin was in his prime at 195 years of age. He had plans, visions, dreams. Thorin Oakenshield was supposed to become the King Under the Mountain, King of Erebor. He was supposed to rule the Lonely Mountain in peace and happiness for years to come. The thoughts only made Bilbo cry harder, his sobs loud and harsh. All he could choke out was either "Why?" or "It's not fair!"

He wasn't sure when the other dwarves came in, but the Men in the surrounding camp would have been able to hear sad voices singing in an ancient language, mingled with the sound of quiet crying. Bilbo eventually found himself flanked by Balin and Bofur, each wrapping an arm around him.

(Neither dwarf could find it in their heart at the moment to tell Bilbo of the deaths of young Fili and Kili, Thorin's beloved sister-sons… of how they had been found near the fallen and wounded Thorin, their bodies curled into each other's, their fingers barely touching. No, they would not further burden the hobbit's heart right now.)

Night was long upon them when Bilbo found himself outside with Bofur, the dwarf that had always been kindest to him. He listened dutifully, quietly, as Bofur told him all that had happened during the Battle of the Five Armies, of Wargs and Orcs and goblins and of brave Men and Elves and especially of courageous Dwarves. He told Bilbo how the Eagles came once more and saved the day, helping the Free Peoples take victory on the battlefield.

"Where are they now?" Bilbo asked, "The eagles?"

"Gandalf said they've gone back to their eyries… back home," Bofur explained.

"And what happened to Fili and Kili? They're not here. Are they still under the mountain? Perhaps, tending to the wounded or something?"

The dwarf sniffed and quietly replied in a thick voice, "Aye, the brothers are still under the mountain, and there they will be forever. They fell in battle defending Thorin after he was wounded. The only good in it is that the lads went together and were never parted… just as they did everything else."

Bilbo felt his lip trembling again as tears slid down his cheeks once more.

"They really were just children, then? Fili and Kili?"

"No, they weren't children… but nor were they quite men yet, either. If we were Men, they'd be just over twenty, I think. Thorin didn't even want them to join the Company, but it was just as hard to part them from their uncle as from each other. I'm not sure who will tell their mother, Thorin's sister, Dis. She's lost all her family now… her mother and father, her brothers, her husband… her sons. I cannot imagine her pain."

"No nor me, but I cannot help feeling a great deal of grief at their deaths. I've never known anyone who's died in battle before, and I've never been so close to such fierce fighting. I should have been there, Bofur. I should have been there to help. I could've-"

"That battle was no place for you, Bilbo. If you'd have been there, you would have been killed, and our grief would be so much worse. You saved our lives many times already. You have nothing to be ashamed of," Bofur told him gently, "Nothing at all."

Bilbo barely managed to whimper, "It's just not fair," before bursting into tears again, burying his face in his hands. Bofur slipped an arm around his shoulders, trying to provide what comfort he could but unsure of how to do it. Dwarves grieved quite differently from hobbits.

A few days later, a funeral was held for the three heirs of Durin who perished in the quest to reclaim Erebor. Bilbo had never seen the other dwarves dressed so nicely. Each one had on his best armor and finery, with their beards well-groomed and braided. Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur had never looked so cleaned up since Bilbo had known them, and even little Ori was decked out in armor. Bilbo stood among the Company, clad in the mail corslet Thorin had given him upon their safe entry to Erebor; he had no other armor. He stood quietly by his comapnions, his nose and eyes and cheeks red, tears dripping down his face and off his chin, as Fili and Kili were buried in the rock under Erebor. Laments were sung in the language of the dwarves, the words of which Bilbo could not fully understand but felt the sadness they portrayed. There was then the funeral of Thorin Oakenshield.

Many dwarves of the Iron Hills labored furiously to hew Thorin's tomb out of solid rock, and Bilbo was astounded to see it. The heavy lid bore the exact likeness of the fallen king, his hands folded upon his breast as if he were asleep. The halfling watched as Thorin was borne into the chamber by two dwarves, a Man, and an Elf (Bard the Bowman and the prince of Mirkwood no less). They placed the dwarf king carefully in his tomb, and with him Bard laid the Arkenstone. This time, the lament started from among the Company, Bofur's clear voice weaving the harsh Khuzdul into a mournful melody, probably telling of his great deeds in battle, of his fierceness, of his hopes and dreams for Erebor, of his love for his people. Bilbo could do little but continue to quietly weep. It took several strong dwarves to push the heavy lid of the tomb closed, a solid and final _thud_ sounding through the cavern just as Bofur's lament ended.

Thranduil, the Elvenking of Mirkwood, stepped forward and placed Orcrist on top of Thorin's tomb, fitting the hilt into the statue's hands and announcing, "I leave with you, Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King Under the Mountain, the great sword Orcrist, the Goblin-Cleaver! Here it will rest, in your hands, ready to warn your kin of any approaching enemies and dangers! May your kingdom live long under your watch!"

(Bilbo strongly suspected that would now be nigh on impossible to remove the sword from the statue's grasp after being set there by the Elvenking.)

Once the ceremony was over, many present filtered out of the burial chamber, until only the Company remained.

"How did it go?" Bilbo asked suddenly and softly, "The Song of the Misty Mountains? The one you sang before we all left Bag End? I think he'd like to hear it one last time…"

The dwarves began the song, helping Bilbo stumble along through it, for hobbits had no great history of creating laments, but this halfling tried. He added a verse of his own making to the end of the song:

_Now under the Lonely Mountain tall,_

_Lies the king where he did fall,_

_Long he roamed, to find his home,_

_Forever now he guards his halls._

It was another week or so before Bilbo Baggins finally left Erebor to return to the Shire, Gandalf at his side.

"Farewell, Balin!" he said, "and farewell, Dwalin; and farewell Dori, Nori, Ori, Oin, Gloin, Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur! May your beards never grow thin!"

And turning towards the Mountain, he added, "Farewell, Thorin Oakenshield! And Fili and Kili! May your memory never fade!"

To himself, he murmured, "I shall return someday, Fili and Kili and Thorin, my friends, return to see the great kingdom you helped reclaim. Then, one day perhaps… I shall see you again."

Indeed, many long years in the future, as he had hoped, Bilbo found them across the Sea.


End file.
